


Come to Bed

by these_dreams_go_on



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, Modern AU, and denial, two idiots in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22709929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/these_dreams_go_on/pseuds/these_dreams_go_on
Summary: Bellamy's favourite place in the world is Clarke's bed.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 193





	Come to Bed

If Bellamy Blake was asked what his favourite place in the world was, he would probably say Rome.

  
Which wasn’t entirely true.

  
But he could hardly tell the presumed stranger or recent acquaintance asking the question that his favourite place in the world was Clarke Griffin’s bed.

  
This wasn’t because he was in love with Clarke, although at this point isolated civilisations on remote islands as yet untouched by technology knew he was in love with Clarke; thanks to his sister and future brother-in-law who were both anthropologists and _assholes_.

  
It was because Clarke’s bed was _awesome_.

  
A King-sized bed with white leather headboard and built in drawers underneath. She had a mattress that had been customised for her, pillows of various sizes and strength and a super-king duvet that felt like a cloud.

  
And her sheets.

  
Egyptian cotton and a shade of white that made him think of the five star hotel rooms he would probably never sleep in.

  
Bellamy had grown up poor, for him, bedding was something that you used for years on end and then replaced with whatever was on sale at Walmart unless it could be found somewhere else cheaper.

  
He had a decent salary now, but poverty wasn’t just economic, it was a state of mentality where even spending an extra twenty dollars to buy a book could have him checking his bank account nervously.

  
He still struggled with going to a nice restaurant when a cheap place would sustain him until his next meal. Or buying fresh vegetables when canned would last longer.

  
It was being discussed in depth with his therapist but in the meantime, he enjoyed nearly unrestricted access to Clarke’s bed.

  
Like on Sunday morning when he let himself into her shared apartment with Raven to see that neither of them had got up yet.

  
“Brunch is in two hours,” he reminded them, shouting from the kitchen because the space isn’t that big, and he doesn’t trust them to check their phones if he messages them.

  
Neither of them emerge while he gets the coffee machine Raven built churning out their daily dose of addiction. Raven takes hers straight black because she drinks for the results while Bellamy and Clarke choose a less savage way of living.

  
Sugar, creamer and sometimes the syrup that they hide in the bottom cupboard. 

  
He kicks at Raven’s door as he walks past with the steaming mugs in his hands and hears a curse grunted in response. Clarke’s door is ajar which leads him to suspect that she woke up earlier just long enough to open the door for him and crawl back into bed.

  
His suspicions are confirmed when he pushes his way into the room to find only her face visible above the blankets, curled against the pillows,

  
“Hi.” she murmurs sleepily- and adorably in his biased opinion-

  
He grins goofily at her because how could he resist when she looks so angelic? 

  
He makes his way around the shoes and artistic paraphernalia that she drops everywhere to the empty side of the bed, putting his mug down on the bedside table and sitting down to reach across and hand over hers.

  
When she takes it, the blankets fall down to reveal the fluffy Slytherin dressing gown he’d bought her one Christmas and he awards himself a mental point for having guessed correctly.

  
“You have to be up soon.” he reminds her as she begins sipping on her coffee, and she groans,

  
“But it’s cold outside.” she protests, glancing to her wide windows where she’d drawn back her curtains to reveal the grey sky that was threatening either sleet or snow by the early afternoon.

  
It was, which was why he’d offered to drive, since Raven had upgraded his old rover for his birthday, he had the kind of heating and cooling system in his car that he’d love to have in his house.

  
“Dress warm.” He suggests and she pouts- again, adorably because he is _gone_ \- and shifts further down into the bed. Which is dangerously close to luring Bellamy in.

  
His shoes seem to drop off of their own accord and his jacket is folded neatly but still winds up on the floor next to bed. Once his glasses are off it’s all over.

  
Sliding under her duvet feels too much like coming home which should be a red flag because Clarke is his best friend and he needs his brain to go ahead and make his heart register that fact. But his brain can only do so much when she’s only a foot away from him and then shifts closer, resting her head on his shoulder and they watch the sky outside her window, nothing but the sound of their breathing filling the room.

  
He’s not sure if Raven pulls his focus or wakes him up but she comes into the room and looks down on them both with a little too much self-righteousness considering he would stake his new copy of Good Omens that she put herself together ten minutes ago max.

  
She might look like she’s about to step on a runway, but he’d seen her apply eyeliner with one hand and practise coding with the other, he knows she can make herself resemble art in ten minutes if she’s pressed for time.

  
“We’re going to be late,” she declares, hands on her hips and a smug smirk on her lips, or he assumes it’s smug, he’s very short sighted without his glasses.

  
“Bellamy, are you gonna get out of Clarke’s bed?”

  
He doesn’t rise to the bait, but he does settle for glaring at her as he throws back the covers and Clarke groans at the disruption, swinging her legs over her side of the bed and pulls herself up, shuffling out and Bellamy tries not to wistfully stare after her.

  
Which again, is quite easy when he’s not wearing his glasses and anything further than three feet away is a colourful blur.

  
He bends down to grab his jacket and Raven pats his shoulder as he straightens back up,

  
“You’re so gone,” she teases, and he rolls his eyes as he pushes his glasses back up his nose,

  
“I can name three tribal chiefs not even on this continent who figured that out before you did Reyes.”

* * *

  
Clarke loved her friends.

 _  
Really_ , she did.

  
But after brunch had merged into lunch and then been followed by a stroll through the nearest park, a coffee pick-up and then coming upon a Winter market where they simply _had_ to visit every single stall…  
  
  
“At a certain point,” she grumbles to Bellamy, “Social interactions become hostage situations.”

  
Bellamy releases a ragged sigh and sips on the Irish coffee that Octavia had bought to placate him after he’d tried to slip away.  
  
  
Nobody was getting out alive.

  
Clarke had dropped all pretences of social niceties and had bought a cup of mulled wine from a stall that had had to prepare it for her especially because they hadn’t thought anyone would want straight alcohol at three in the afternoon.

  
She’d argued back that it was barely forty degrees, there were snowflakes in the air- and the back of her jacket- and her friends were hyped up on sugar and impending Christmas spirit.

  
She hated everyone right now.

  
Except Bellamy.

  
But that was because she was in love with him and right now, he was being stupidly gorgeous.

  
With a forest green coat and some snowflakes in his curly hair, chuckling as he intercepts a small child running away from her mother…

  
And he’d just brought out his level five smile.

God, Clarke _hated_ that smile.

  
Not only did it cause heart palpitations all along the Eastern seaboard, but it made it really, _really_ hard to hide the fact- to herself and occasionally to others- that she was head over heels for her best friend.  
  


She glares down at a snow globe of Arkadia and contemplates buying it before she feels a strong arm slip around her waist and a sharp chin on her shoulder,

  
“In five minutes, I’m going to distract Octavia,” Lincoln murmurs and she leans against him, enjoying the warmth and affection.

  
“You and Bellamy take the chance to run, it’s too late to save me but you can save yourselves.”

  
She smirks and kisses his cheek, “I’ll always remember you.”

  
He slips away and she buys the snow globe because she needs to take something away from the day other than tipsiness and makes a beeline for Bellamy.

  
Who is scoring a free hot mead from a stall holder who’d witnessed that smile and is struggling to remember how words work.

  
Clarke can’t blame the guy, first time she’d witnessed that smile she’d been willing to give the rest of her life to her best friend.

  
To have and hold and all those stupid vows.

  
“Hey,” she settles for bumping him with her shoulder and not taking his hand because- let the stall guy fantasize about a life with Bellamy, who can blame him?

  
She had a whole catalogue of fantasies SFW, NSFW and the kind that left her wondering if she needed a therapist or a priest.

  
“We have a chance to escape.”

  
He turns his head to focus on her so quickly that she’s worried he’s cricked his neck,

  
“What do I need to do?” he asks as eagerly as he can manage with both physical and mental weariness weighing him down.

  
Clarke spies Lincoln grabbing Octavia’s hand and pulling her towards him, the two share a tender look that makes her heart warm with happiness for the two of them and clench with longing because she’ll never experience that with the man next to her.

  
Monty is summoned for his photo taking expertise and while their friends are distracted, Clarke and Bellamy begin backing away until there’s enough of a crowd that they can slip behind the stalls. They hurry along the muddy ground between the ropes and the trucks until they see the road and cross into a street.

  
They manage to heave sighs of relief in unison and then share a light laugh before a cold wind has Clarke shivering and remembering how much she hates the outdoors.

  
And that Lincoln’s plan had only got them this far.

  
“Come on,” she beckons, “My place has chocolate.”

  
“You’re not tired of socialising?” he suggests as she tosses her paper cup of mulled wine into a trash can and she shakes her head,

  
“Time with you doesn’t count.”

  
He puts a gloved hand to his heart, feigning a look of distress and she rolls her eyes, grabbing his free hand and pretending there’s nothing unusual about that as she leads him back to her apartment.

  
It’s not until they’re in the door and she’s kicking off her shoes, placing her feet on the floorboards that her exhaustion hits her, and she nearly groans with relief to be out of her boots.

  
She makes the mistake of heading to her bedroom to pull off her jacket and at that point, she surrenders to gravity and faceplants on her bed, being lulled in by the luxuriousness of her doona.

  
Which is how Bellamy finds her when he brings in steaming mugs of hot chocolate and she manages to roll onto her back to look up at him. He smirks and places her mug on her bedside table, just out of her reach and she groans as he leaves the room.

  
He returns with her laptop and she shuffles up to her pillows as he settles on the other side of the bed.

  
She and Bellamy were slowly making their way through a cartoon series that Monty and Jasper had begged everyone to watch. They’d thought they had more time but once Lincoln had binged the entire first season while on the treadmill, they’d had to try and catch up.

  
She unlocks her laptop and Bellamy navigates through to Netflix, before standing up to grab one of her large books to set the device on. 

  
And of course, it was only for the sake of comfort that she pulled down the duvet and waited for him to sit back against the pillows before drawing it up around them both, and it was only so they could both see the screen that she shuffled over until there was minimal space between them and he had to sling an arm around her shoulders for the sake of comfort. 

  
She was _so_ gone.

  
At least she hadn’t started romanticizing the scent of him yet.

  
He didn’t smell like fresh earth after rain or the woods, he smelled like the vegan body wash that Monty had made him and male.

  
Therefore, she was only ninety-five percent gone instead of the whole hundred percent.

  
It totally counted.

  
Usually, she can ignore her love for Bellamy while they’re watching tv alone together because they would be sitting on the couch in one of their living rooms and she’d be paranoid about one of their friends walking in or him rejecting her; but curled up in her bed together, all she can focus on is how it feels to have his body next to hers and how nice it would be to have him wake up with her all the time.

* * *

  
If he was being honest, Bellamy didn’t see the appeal of the show.

  
If he was going to put down his book to watch tv, he wanted a show that would pull him in and that he could enjoy discussing later.

  
This just seemed to be poorly drawn cartoons and boring story lines.

  
The only upside was that it was his excuse to schedule extra time to spend with Clarke.

  
Which had somehow progressed to the two of them curled up in her bed together which is probably as close to heaven as he’s ever going to get and he’s enjoying the moment until the credits roll and she’s tilting her beautiful face to look up at him.

  
He has to remind himself not to kiss her lips.

  
Or bury his face in her hair.

  
Or tell her that he loves her.

  
“Bellamy,” she begins, and he finds his anxiety going wild with ideas about the next words out of her mouth, anticipation making him tense just enough that his fingers press into her shoulder and he has to deliberately relax them.

  
“You…like being here right?” she asks, and he frowns, trying to figure out where that question had come from.

  
“Of course,” he says with a grin, “I like your bed _almost_ as much as I like you.”

  
She rolls her eyes and smirks at his teasing but shifts so that she’s sitting up, pushing back the duvet which doesn’t do much for his nerves, especially with that serious look in her blue eyes.

  
“And how much do you like me?” she asks, and his mouth goes dry, wondering if one of their friends had interfered- and he would need to commit a murder- or if he’d just become obvious to the point, she could no longer ignore it.

  
“Clarke…” he manages to choke out before she continues, her fingers wrapped up in the corner of the duvet that had fallen into her lap.

  
“Because, I was thinking…maybe you could be here…in my bed…more often and we could do things other than watch bad tv shows and take naps together.”

  
Oh.

  
 _Ohhh_.

  
He reaches down, placing his hands on top of hers until she releases the duvet and flips them over to link their fingers together and he finds himself smiling like it’s Christmas morning,

  
“What exactly do you have in mind?”

  
Their first kiss is messy, their both grinning too much for it to be more than a confirmation of their feelings for one another, but their second kiss was a lot better.

  
Their fourth kiss involved tongue and their fifth kiss took place as Clarke took his hands and placed them on her waist.

  
Two hours later and Bellamy is lying naked in his favourite place in the world with Clarke curled against the pillows, his head on her stomach while she ran her fingers through his hair. He moans in delight when she massages his scalp and pulls her down for what has to be their fiftieth kiss by that stage.

  
“You know,” she whispers against his lips, “You never actually agreed with my suggestion.”

  
He frowns as he tries to remember what she’s talking about, a little difficult when she’s naked and gorgeous and he’s allowed to kiss and touch her.

  
“I’m pretty sure I gave you plenty of proof I agreed with you,” he teases, “But if you need me to say it, then yes, I definitely think we should spend a lot more time in your bed.”


End file.
